Gina marvelled at the bathroom and lavatory she found next. Oh, the luxury! If only they had upstairs plumbing at the cottage, instead of having to trek out through the kitchen to the bathroom Mr Beveridge had added at the side, which was infested with spiders in autumn and freezing cold in winter. Before that they had had only the outside privy, a tin bath and the scullery. Mum had been very proud when her bathroom was built. Really, it was pathetic.

Around the corner at the end, as she’d hoped, there were more stairs, which also led down to become, she guessed, the ones she’d seen going up from the bottom corridor. Gina went up them and found a row of small attic rooms. One was used to store suitcases, a trunk with brass fastenings, and a wooden box with the initials ‘J. A. S.’ on the top. What could that be for? There were old hatboxes, too, and a brass bedstead. The next two rooms were plain and empty but for a narrow bed and chest of drawers in each: servants’ rooms from the days when there were more staff here. Now, so few people worked here. Mrs Thwaite had a couple of rooms off the downstairs corridor, Mrs Bassett came in daily from the village, and Tom lived in the Lodge at the main gate. These attic rooms looked habitable, though. Gina tried the beds, looked at the views from the windows …

When she had completed her look round to her satisfaction, Gina crept downstairs again. In the hall she saw her mother approaching, carrying her bag of dusters and polish and dragging the heavy vacuum cleaner behind her.

‘Let me help you with that, Mum,’ said Gina. ‘I’ve been giving Mrs Bassett a hand. I’m going to take Coco out for his walk but I’ve time to take this down.’ She pushed open the green door and took the vacuum cleaner down the stairs to the cleaning cupboard.

‘Thank you. You’re a good lass, Gina,’ said Dora. ‘It’s been a tiring day. I wonder what the news is of Mrs Thwaite. Mr Stellion isn’t back yet.’

‘No doubt we’ll hear soon,’ said Gina. ‘I’d best get on …’

She rushed away, back up to the hall, then opened the door and stepped calmly through. Mrs Stellion moved her activities – or lack of activity – to the sitting room in the afternoons. Gina went along and knocked.

‘Come in, Gina. I knew it was you,’ Mrs Stellion smiled. She was lying on the sofa with her feet up on the arm, reading a magazine. ‘What a morning that was; I’m quite worn out.’

Gina came in and Coco gave a little bark, jumped out of his basket and came fussing round her feet, eager for his walk.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs Stellion. Can I do anything for you?’